


when evening falls so hard (i will comfort you)

by soliloquize



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Ableism, depiction of chronic pain flare up, discussion of disability, not too graphic but also its the entire fic, taz: graduation - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloquize/pseuds/soliloquize
Summary: Rainer prides herself on staying positive and focusing on things she can control.  After many years and no small number of sessions with magi-psychologists, it’s a skill she’s become quite advanced in.That doesn’t change the fact that today is just plain crummy.  Her body aches.  The pain weighs down each of her limbs and threatens to drag her under completely.  She has to force herself out of bed, donning only her softest sweater and staying in the leggings she slept in.  She takes a pain relief potion she knows from experience will be inadequate and makes her way to class in a fog.
Relationships: Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt/Rainer
Comments: 14
Kudos: 191





	when evening falls so hard (i will comfort you)

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon & Garfunkel
> 
> this fic was born because I wanted fluff of Fitzroy braiding Rainer's hair ... several things happen in this fic but none of them is Fitzroy braiding Rainer's hair and most of them don't qualify as fluff
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway

Rainer prides herself on staying positive and focusing on things she can control. After many years and no small number of sessions with magi-psychologists, it’s a skill she’s become quite advanced in.

That doesn’t change the fact that today is just plain crummy. Her body aches. The pain weighs down each of her limbs and threatens to drag her under completely. She has to force herself out of bed, donning only her softest sweater and staying in the leggings she slept in. She takes a pain relief potion she knows from experience will be inadequate and makes her way to class in a fog. Normally with a flare-up this bad, she’d stay in bed and venture only as far as the infirmary for a sleeping potion, but she’s already missed Accounting twice this term. The owl professor is infamous for his rigidity, even in the face of students with different needs; three absences will dock her grade, and four could face her with a failing grade. She could probably weather the loss of a few points, but she has to save her third absence – what if a worse day is just a few weeks away?

On the way to class she takes the widest corridors with the fewest turns. Her arms rebel when she attempts to steer her chair manually, meaning she has to do it entirely with Mage Hand. The extra mental strain does nothing to help the feeling that she’s wrapped in fog.

Her smile to Buckminster and Leon as they pass her is several seconds delayed. They’ve known her long enough not to take it personally, but it’s still frustrating to have her condition disrupt not only her life, but to ripple out and effect how she impacts others as well.

She makes it through Accounting, somehow. Rolandus sees her tight posture and shallow breathing and gives her a hand out of the classroom – pushing her chair without asking, because he’s an asshole. Rainer would really like to go back to her room at this point, but she has the vague idea that if she’s up and about she might as well push through. A voice in the back of her head sounding suspiciously like her favorite therapist tells her that’s flawed logic, but she doesn’t have the energy to argue with Rolandus or herself, so they continue on to the cafeteria.

“Hello Rainer. Rolandus.” 

Fitzroy’s voice cuts through her fog along with a small stab of panic. He knows, ostensibly that she’s disabled. Rainer’s told him about her chronic pain. But this is the first time he’s actually seen her have a flare-up.

“Is everything okay?” Fitzroy’s primness softens into concern. He swims into her field of vision, dressed like he just came from sparring, hair pulled back and glasses nowhere to be seen.

Rainer nods tightly. “Bad pain day. But I’ll be fine.”

Fitzroy aims his gaze over her shoulder. “I can take it from here,” he tells Rolandus, haughtiness creeping into his voice. Rainer shoots him a look – even on a bad day she doesn’t need him and Rolandus talking about her like she’s not there. His ears twitch back in contrition.

“See you around, Maplecourt. Feel better, Rainer.” Rolandus takes his leave and Fitzroy comes up to her side.

“Are you truly okay?” She hears the worry in his voice and it mixes with the fear in her stomach, creeping up her throat like bile.

Because this is the first time Fitzroy’s seen her in a flare-up. Up to this point, he’s never known her disability to provide significant inconvenience to herself or anyone else. And it’s true that she’s developed excellent coping mechanisms and has access to life-changing resources, but at the end of the day she is still disabled. 

And Fitzroy… strong, splendid Fitzroy. Can he understand? Rainer’s sure he’ll try, in his way. His eyebrows pull together in a way that displays more than enough sympathy. But knight or not, he’s a warrior. How will he handle a challenge he can’t fight, that’s not even his own? One that will, sooner or later, return no matter what anyone does? She fears the reality of chronic illness – of being partnered to someone like her, professionally or romantically – has not hit him.

Of course the other end of the spectrum would be even worse. To have him see her as nothing more than a helpless damsel, someone he’s obligated to not out of love, but a sense of overly self-important duty.

“I’m fine,” she says again. The pause before her response was too long, she can see it in his eyes, bright with worry.

“Of course, only you look quite pale. Have you eaten today? I know the cafeteria has rather dismal offerings, but let’s get you, er, a banana or something.”

“I’m not hungry.” She wills her chair back before he can attempt to steer it for her.

“Can I escort you to your room? The infirmary? Do you wish to lie down?”

Rainer can feel her heartbeat in every single one of her limbs, loud and percussive. Her hair is falling in her face because she couldn’t lift her arms long enough to tie it back this morning. There’s no cheerful rattle of bones from her chair compartments. What is she even doing?

“Yes,” she says. “I’m going back to my room.”

“Allow me.” Fitzroy jumps into eager motion and holds open a door for her that would have opened automatically. She makes her way through the corridors, now easier to navigate because all of the student traffic is at lunch. They’re nearly at her room, but even once they get there she’ll have to get herself out of her chair and into bed, and how is she supposed to do that with any sense of dignity? Rainer has low moments – she’s only human—but she doesn’t usually have to endure a witness to them.

At the threshold of her room, she hesitates. Everything is as she left it: dark, cozy, a few pieces of clothing strewn about. There’s an ewer and washbasin on the dresser across from the bed.

“Do you need a glass of water?” Fitzroy asks solicitously. “Here, I’ll fetch—”

“I can do it myself, Fitzroy!”

He gapes at her sudden outburst. She ignores him. 

Gritting her teeth she braces her arms on her chair and pushes herself upright. It’s stupid and prideful and she knows she’ll regret the movement tomorrow, but she’s seeing red with the need to prove she’s more than her goddamn pain. 

She takes one step. Two steps. The dresser is so very far from the door.

“Rainer, sit down, please,” Fitzroy babbles. She doesn’t respond; all of her focus is on staying upright and not breaking down into sobs.

Finally she reaches the dresser. Rather than actually pour herself any water, she falls against it.

“See?” she pants. Then she slides down to the floor, slowly enough to be safe, if not graceful. “I’m okay,” she groans before he can say anything. She rests her head on her knees, hair falling forward in a curtain. “I’m in a lot of pain, but nothing is _wrong_ and eventually it will go away and eventually it will come back again. I’ve been dealing with it for years, and I can handle it because it is just how I am.”

Rainer counts seven deliberate breathes in and out, half meditation, half proof that she’s still breathing even if it feels like her body is trying to kill her.

Fitzroy speaks. “Will it make it worse if I sit next to you?”

“No.”

“Can I touch you?” His earnestness and eagerness to please is so dear to her, even now. She squeezes her eyes shut in some sort of futile defense.

“Yes.”

She feels the floor creak and the dresser shift back as he lowers himself down beside her. His hand covers hers where it rests on the floor and he strokes his thumb over the back of her hand, lightly enough that she almost can’t feel it.

“If I have implied whatsoever through word or deed that you, Rainer Michelle, are not the most capable person I have ever met, I owe you a grave apology. I, uh,” he coughs, “am sorry anyway, for making a hard day harder, whatever anyone’s intentions were.”

“Thank you,” Rainer whispers.

“It is simply – if there is something that causes you pain and me none, I don’t see why I should sit by and watch you suffer. I say this not out of… mere chivalry, but as someone who— _cares_ about you, Rainer. Ah, quite a lot.”

Rainer swallows around the lump in her throat.

“I care about you too.”

He moves his hand up to brush her hair behind her ear. 

“It won’t stay,” she mumbles. Her entire body still aches, but the waves of pain from walking across the room have subsided enough that she doesn’t miss his inhale and hesitation.

“I could… braid it back for you? If you like?” he says. Then, before she can formulate a response, “I will do better in the future about just – doing things for you, but you have to know you can always ask.”

“We should talk about this more… later,” Rainer says, knowing what kind of state she’s in. “But also, you’re right. About this.”

He strokes her hair methodically. “Tell me what I can do.”

She sighs. She doesn’t want to move, but she knows staying on the floor won’t help anything in the long term.

“Help me into bed.”

Fitzroy slides an arm under hers and lifts her upright, supporting nearly all her weight with infuriatingly little effort. They make it to the edge of the bed easily enough. She sits and he makes eye contact, waits for permission. She nods and he swings her legs up onto the bed. 

Rainer curls into a loose fetal position, facing away from Fitzroy.

“Stay, please,” she says when he doesn’t immediately sit back down next to her. “It felt nice having you play with my hair.”

“As you command,” he says with some of his usual cheek.

“My skin doesn’t usually get too sensitive or tender or anything,” she mumbles. If he can’t understand her with her face half-buried in a pillow, he doesn’t say so. “It’s worse if I move a lot, but cuddling is usually okay.”

He takes the hint, sitting down gingerly. Still, there’s only so much room on the bed, and there’s not really a sustainable position that doesn’t involve him half-spooning her. He moves slowly, giving her lots of time to object. She doesn’t. He winds up with his warm, broad chest against her back, hand carding slowly through her hair. The gentle pressure against her scalp actually feels amazing both in its own right and as a reminder of his presence.

“Thank you,” she breathes.

“You’re quite welcome.”

Rainer knows in this state that she’s unlikely to fall asleep without a potion, but she’s able to relax into something that’s almost a doze. Her mind floats aimlessly, and she speaks without much thought. “You’ll have to tell me sometime how you learned to braid.”

“It’s not much of a story,” Fitzroy says, voice as gentle as the fingers in her hair. She wants to tease him – it’s not like she has a migraine – except it’s cute. “My whole family has long hair, my older sisters always wanted help with theirs, and in battle or on long missions, it’s much easier to have my own more secure than just a ponytail.”

“Mm.”

“I like it though. I can do all sorts of fancy ornamentations.”

“Someday we’ll have to go somewhere really fancy and you’ll do my hair, too.”

“The Butter Mine?”

“ _Not_ the Butter Mine.”

He chuckles softly. Rainer lets herself relax against him another inch, going through her muscle relaxation exercises. Then she switches to just focusing on the feel of him, so sturdy behind her. He tugs the blanket up over both their legs. Even through the brainfog and pain she can appreciate the light scratch of his nails along her scalp.

“Let’s just stay right here, for now,” she says.

“Right here. I can do that.”


End file.
